


Losing a Mother

by mayathewriter



Series: Losing Sarai Ono [1]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Callum (The Dragon Prince)-centric, Canonical Character Death, Gen, How Do I Tag, I Made Myself Cry, Minor Character Death, TDP Week Day 1 - Funeral, its. sad. im sorry., rated teen and up for Sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-01
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-07-21 02:51:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16151006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayathewriter/pseuds/mayathewriter
Summary: For ten years, it had been just the two of them. How was he supposed to cope with her being gone?





	Losing a Mother

Callum had never been to a funeral before.

Well. No, that’s not entirely true. When he was two his biological dad had died, and according to his mother, he’d gone to that funeral, too. But he doesn’t remember it. Not like he’ll remember hers.

It was late November, the chill in the air cutting through him to the bone, but he didn’t feel a thing. He could only watch her casket descend into the ground, the glossy black surface catching the midday light and blinding him. He didn’t notice that, either.

He didn’t notice Ezran cling to his arm, shivering as he watched the funeral unfold in front of him, still a hair too young to entirely understand what was happening. He didn’t notice Harrow wrap an arm around his two sons, tears frosting over his beard as he took shaking breaths.

Sarai Ono’s funeral had been a small affair, her family and a few close friends the only ones present. Amaya, her sister, stood across from her nephews and brother-in-law, signing her last few words before they covered her sister’s body in six feet of dirt. It was unsettling, watching Amaya, usually so unshakeable in her strength, break down midway through her final goodbye to Sarai.

The funeral goes on for some time after this, or so Callum is told. The next thing he remembers after watching his aunt cry is the dark ceiling of his bedroom. He wished he was buried with her.

That morning, he didn’t say anything. Not to Harrow, who he still had trouble calling his father. Not to Amaya, who hugged him so tightly when she saw him that he thought there would be bruises on his ribs from the force of it. Not even Ezran, who he loved with everything he had.

He didn’t say anything the next day. Or the next.

Harrow decided to get them family grief counseling. He was barely hanging on, too. Callum could see that much, even through his haze of grief. So he went, and said nothing to the counselor, either. 

Weeks passed. He still didn’t speak. 

Two months passed. They were nearing her birthday. Callum has been silent.

Harrow was cancelling their counselling sessions for a while. Callum was glad. Maybe they’d finally let him forget what happened.

It was at the last counselling meeting when their counsellor, a stern but kind man named Runaan, pulled him to the side.

“I know it’s hard,” he said gently. “Believe me, I know. But you can’t live the rest of your life like this. Find some way to communicate, even if it’s not with your voice.”

The words went unheard for many more weeks before resurfacing with a pained cry.

Callum had been staring at his ceiling, a common pastime of his, caught up in a memory of him and his mother from several years ago. They were dancing around the living room of their small apartment, her face warm and smiling but--

but there was something wrong, something was wrong with her face there was something missing he couldn’t-- couldn’t find the piece that fit couldn’t find what was wrong but it  _ was  _ and he didn’t--

“Callum? Is everything okay?”

It was Harrow, flushed and panting from the sprint up the stairs to his oldest son and the first noise that had come from him in so many months. “Callum?” he repeated, only to be met with a sob as he folded in on himself, thin shoulders shaking as he fell into his father’s arms.

“I can’t remember her face,” he cried, voice rough with disuse. “I can’t--” His voice broke, and he buried his face into Harrow’s shoulder, letting himself feel for the first time since he shut down.

It  _ hurt _ , it hurt so badly to face that she was gone. That he would never dance around the living room with her anymore, hearing songs that nobody else could as they danced. They would never go to the cemetery and have a picnic on her and his biological dad’s anniversary to have a picnic where she would tell him stories about how they met, and how she was happy with Harrow, even if she still missed him. He would never be able to help her cook for Harrow’s birthday anymore because she never could cook, but always wanted to for the people she loved. She would never come home from work to ruffle his hair and help him with his math homework and tease him about his hair because she was fucking  _ dead _ and there was nothing for him to do except cry.

Sarai Ono, cherished mother, wife and sister. Loved with everything she had, so fiercely that it came out in everything she did. Mother of Callum Ono and Ezran Kingsley, wife of Harrow Kingsley, sister of Amaya Ono. He missed her so, so much.

“Why did she have to die?” he asked Harrow’s shoulders, sobs having died down to hiccups and silent tears.

“I don’t know,” he said softly, stroking his hair, so similar to how she used to do it that Callum almost started crying again. “It’s not fair. But we have to learn to move on.”

Callum nodded, slow and shaky as he pulled away. “Can I have a picture of her?” he asked, voice still thick with tears. “I don’t… I don’t want to forget.”

“Of course,” he murmured, kissing the top of his head before leaving the room, returning with a wallet photo of Sarai, along with a small sketchbook and a pencil. He said nothing about the other two things, but gave him one more squeeze before quietly leaving the room.

_ Find some way to communicate, even if it’s not with your voice. _

So he drew. He drew her, over and over again until her features were carved into the surface of his skin, the marrow of his bones, and he couldn’t forget what she looked like if he tried.

He drew their old apartment, their new home, her, the park they used to walk through after the first snowfall every year, her trying to cook in their kitchen, her, her, her. There were years of memories of just the two of them, and he drew every single one of them.

Callum still missed his mother. He probably would, for the rest of his life. But it eased the ache, to know her features better than the pens he used to draw them.

He started to talk again. Played with Ezran, joked with Amaya, talked with Harrow late into the night about Sarai and the stories he kept to himself from before. How she once climbed a tree to make him laugh but got stuck, and spent almost an hour figuring her way down without getting hurt. The three stray cats she tried to adopt before remembering that both her and Callum were allergic.

He started high school six months later, with more than a little catching up to do since he stopped caring for most of eighth grade. A friendly sophomore girl with a thick Scottish accent helped him out, and later became his first friend in a very long time. He saw Runaan again, too--turns out he was Rayla’s legal guardian. He said nothing when Callum came over to his house the first time, but shared a small, secret smile with him before greeting him like he would anyone else.

Things were looking up, and a year after the funeral Callum mourned, and it hurt, but it was getting better.  _ He _ was getting better.

He stopped by her grave that year, holding a bouquet of flowers and a drawing.

“Hey, mom,” he said softly. “I miss you. It hurts still, sometimes, but it’s better. I started drawing to remember you, but I’m starting to draw other things, too. Ezran likes the pictures of frogs and giant toads the best. Did you know he brought one home last month? He named it Bait. It kind of reminds me of those really old grumpy cat memes.”

And the next year.

“Hi, again, mom. I still miss you, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it used to. Bait has become a permanent part of the house, now. Dad got a bird, too, actually. Pip. They’re both bad at naming animals, it seems.”

“I had a dream last night you were still alive. I guess I’m not as ‘over it’ as I thought I was.”

“I started seeing Runaan again. He said that I’m making progress. It doesn’t feel like it anymore.”

“Sorry I’m a few days late this year.” Callum was crying, the first time he’d done it at this grave since she was buried. “Dad died earlier this month. We--me and Ezran--we’ve been trying to, um, trying to work through it better than we did with you. It’s not working out too well.”

“Why did you have to die?”

**Author's Note:**

> day 1 of tdp week 2018. this made me very sad im sorry about this
> 
> also, if you think harrow should be classified as a major character leave a comment or let me know on tumblr, you can find my tdp blog at moonshxdows
> 
> i dont have much to say about this, sorry
> 
> hhhhh i also didn't really like the ending but. oh well. its late and i have school tomorrow


End file.
